I Laid My Soul into Your Hands
by Jhen6996
Summary: River Song was the most beautiful starlight he had ever seen, but to him she was an echo of that most gorgeous star burned brightly for him so long ago.


**I Laid My Soul into Your Hands**

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A/N: I still can't get over brilliant THoRS because it was just beautiful and sad. And strangely it made me love 11th and River's relationship much more than I did before. I have to write something for them so here we go.

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 **.**

 **I.**

It started snowing now. The Doctor, with grey hair, struggled to stand up from the chair, and pushed the tools on the desk away. He carefully put the little half-repaired doll into the wooden box in front of him and took a rest. Snowy days weren't the worst; the worst days were when the snow started to melt, and the cold weather would hurt his broken leg and make his knees tremble.

River was right though. He thought fondly. River was always right. Eating lots and lots of fish fingers did no good to his health. He was too young to realize it back then. And now look at his face; all wrinkles and lines and he was physically old and the bad eating habit was torturing him.

"You are right, my dear," he spoke softly to the woman leaning on his front door, smiling.

River Song winked at him playfully; her blue-green eyes with a smug gleam locked on his. Her glorious blonde curls were dancing in the cold wind; her lips quirked in amusement. Cheeks flushed, he was grinning like an idiot now. The old Doctor walked toward her slowly, and she just waited there. It was fine, though. In the past it was her chasing and him running, and now it was his turn chasing and her turn running. Fair enough.

"I admitted you are right, but being smug is very rude, River," he told to her and touched her nose tenderly.

His finger went through her and one blink, she was nowhere to be found.

The Doctor stood there for a while before closing his big sad eyes, leaning on the place her hallucination was leaning seconds ago. His brain was whispering to him and his mind was retorting.

 _She is not here_. (Yes she is.)

 _You've said your goodbye, remember?_ (She is always here to me.)

"I love you," reverently his hearts whispered for him. In a place where lying was not allowed, it was so easy to pour those three little words out of his soul. He never told her, though.

He believed she knew it anyway. River always knew.

 **.**

 **II.**

The children here had been the light of his life now. They loved the stories he told.

Oh, he loved telling stories. Those flying horses and beautiful mermaids and the robot dog he once had and a wardrobe full of long, long scarves. In this incarnation he was particularly brilliant at telling stories; children in town would break through his door and practically begged him for some lovely tales every afternoon. In return, they would draw something amazing for him. He loved this exchange quite a lot, and treasured all the drawings like they were priceless diamonds.

"The old bow tie again!" Little Marie cried and pointed at his good old favourite, laughing. He adored this one maybe too much, because she had those sparkling blonde curls and the end of them were like little circles, like Gallifreyan. She wrinkled her petite nose and said, "It is silly."

"No, no, my little Marie. Bow ties are cool," he bumped her nose and adjusted his precious bow tie, smirking."There is actually a very, very amazing story about this bow tie."

He told the children a story about a wedding held on the top of a pyramid.

Later that day, he received a drawing. A smug younger him and a smirking lovely her, between their hands was a twisted line. He thought that must be the wedding bow tie from his story. He touched the line tenderly and chuckled.

It suited them both, really. Two time travelers, back against each other's, wandering in a circle drawn centuries ago. They tried their best to draw the most complicated lines in the circle and met each other where the lines every meeting was a wonderful miracle. It was like weaving; he weaved his hearts into the fancywork they made together, and she tied a knot at the end and the beginning of it, making sure through time and space their tragically beautiful artwork wouldn't loose little bit.

The drawing became his most treasured one in his collection.

 **.**

 **III.**

He finally had time to reflect on himself.

He didn't do many things right. Well, he did many things wrong but _this one_ was hurting him.

He didn't take her to Darillium to see the Singing Towers.

Her smiling face with a drop of tear when she was about to sacrifice herself in The Library was haunting him.

He was too young back then, just losing her parents, and it pained him knowing he'd soon lose her, too. Everything became too much for him and he was panicked and started running away from her. Deep down in his hearts he knew, that everything ended no matter how hard he tried to make it last forever.

One day, her ghost appeared in his Tardis without warning. He kept his face straight and wept inside, knowing that she was gone now.

He asked the Tardis to take him to Calderon Beta, 12 minutes past midnight on the 21st of September, 2360. Their first date. Under the starry sky the younger version of them were lying on somewhere perfect, sharing the fish fingers bought from a chip shop and a slightly awkward conversation. He stood out of the Tardis and sat on the grass, her ghost was leaning on the door frame and staring up at the stars above them. He pretended that he cried because he missed her.

He missed her of course. But no, he wasn't crying for that.

The starlight in the sky was an echo of the stars that burned centuries ago. Those ones faded away now.

River Song was the most beautiful starlight he had ever seen, but to him she was an echo of that most gorgeous star burned brightly for him so long ago.

He had loved and was still in love with an echo of a precious star.

 **.**

 **IV.**

He was old. Physically he'd never been this old before.

These days he would sit in the armchair and drift off sleep. It was new to him, since he didn't require much sleep before. And so, he was sure that now he was dreaming.

Because River Song was standing in front of him, in that white dress he'd seen when he was several hundred years younger. She raised her eyebrows playfully. He couldn't help but grin back like a silly old man in love, only staring, not daring to make a move. The wind surrounded them was warm and welcoming, and the grass was swaying. Everything became perfect when it came to her. He smelt that violet perfume he'd secretly admired so, so much, and drank the beauty of her face in almost hungrily.

She smirked, talked before he did. "Just when will you stop staring and do something brilliant?"

He flushed, hands faltered for a moment; it was strange; usually when he was dreaming he would be young again, but now, now he was old and wrinkled as he should be. He stumbled forward, almost tripped by the air. River walked toward him quickly and caught his arms before it was too late.

"Still as clumsy as ever. Bless." She chuckled. He should tell her he was offended, yet he was too in awe of her, utterly speechless.

They sat down on the grass. His hazel eyes were still glued on her face; in his dream, she hadn't aged a bit, she looked just as beautiful as he remembered. The soft smile on her face eased his recent pain a little bit. He felt something warm on his cheek, and realized it was River's hand touching his cheek.

"Your face," she spoke ruefully, smiling. "I hadn't seen you this old before."

"Still brilliant though! I'm always brilliant!" He held her hand grinning, and stopped, adding tentatively, "am I?"

She chuckled again, moving closer to him. One blink and her soft lips were on his. The Doctor gasped, eyes teary. How he'd missed this. Her lips, her kisses, her voice. Everything about her. He let out a sob as she tilted her head, grinning rather impishly. "Of course you are, Sweetie."

 _Sweetie_.

Until now then he finally realized the thing he'd missed the most was her calling him that. He hadn't and wouldn't let anyone else call him Sweetie, ever. He pulled River into his arms, forehead on her shoulder, trying to hide his own tears. She was warm and soft and smelt nice, he almost believed she was real. He was having a very, very nice dream tonight, then.

"I know, I know…" River soothed him with her low, calm voice, mouth close to his ear, combing his grey hair with her slender fingers.

No, she knew nothing. But he was fine with that. It was a dream, after all.

"It's only a dream," he cupped her face with trembling hands and whispered. She was smiling sadly, hands on his face again. He nuzzled her palm and smiled back at her, tired.

"It's only a dream," she agreed, eyes glinting. "But why can't it be a dream _and_ real?"

"Ha!" He rejoiced. Ah, even in his dream, his wife was still witty enough to make him laugh.

Her hands left his cheeks and he panicked, without thinking he reached to hold her right hand in an instant and put it on his chest. He laid his head down in her lap, face against her warm belly, and closed his eyes. The tears damped her dress, but River didn't complain. She was humming some melody that was lovely and he'd never heard before. She was stroking his hair when her lips fell on his temple lovingly.

"Let me tell you a little spoiler, my love," she whispered as he was dozing off.

 _When the wind stands fair and the night is perfect, you will see me again_

 _You are lying. You are gone and everything ended_. He wanted to say that, but he fell asleep before he could even have a chance.

When he opened his eyes, he was in his little house, alone.

He didn't remember what he dreamed about; he only knew that he hadn't had a good sleep like last night's for a long, long time. Scratching his face, he picked up the tool from his desk and began to fix the little toy car. The wind was howling furiously outside. It went through the door and attacked him mercilessly. He shivered and put on the only coat he had.

" _When the wind stands fair and the night is perfect…_ "

Suddenly he recalled this whisper from his dream; he couldn't remember what the following words were or who said that. But, he had a strange feeling that, when the wind stood fair and the night was perfect, something wonderful would happen to him.

He grinned to himself, and started fixing the toy in his hands.


End file.
